In 1960,
at the frozen heart of the Cold War, Shostakovich finally became a member
of the Communist Party, subsequently “contributing” to Pravda a series
of articles condemning bourgeois western music. At that time, the West,
not comprehending the consequences of the alternative, understandably damned
Shostakovich with the rest of the Soviet Union. When the Twelfth Symphony
was first heard at the 1962 Edinburgh Festival, the critics were appalled
at this crude piece of blatant, poster-painted Soviet propaganda. After
all, that was exactly what it sounded like, lacking even the one
redeeming feature of the much-maligned Second Symphony, that extraordinary,
undisciplined crucible in which Shostakovich forged his mature style. The
Second
was seen as experimental, the Twelfth seemed merely excremental.

Over the
years since Shostakovich's death came Testimony (Solomon Volkov's
contentious “Memoirs of Shostakovich”, a then unsubstantiated exposé
of the Soviet), glasnost, the fall of the Wall, and the gradual emergence
of the appalling truth about the Soviet “experiment”. The West rediscovered
Shostakovich, as a composer of immense integrity, courage and cunning,
who had distilled the character of “Janus-Poulenc” into a technique for
both survival (“rendering unto Caesar”, seemingly giving the authorities
what they demanded) and expression (saying what he really, really wanted
to his audience, the people). He also had, and needed, a bit of luck -
but, as they say, fortune favours the brave. He spoke through a mask of
conformism using musical codes, incorporating cross-references to his earlier
works, quoting folk or popular songs, and using numerous technical devices.
Of this last, perhaps the easiest to spot is his use of two-note phrases
to represent (usually) Stalin, the Opressor, and three-note phrases to
represent the oppressed population.

It transpires
that, considering the dreadful alternative, Shostakovich had no option
but to sign up. His reputation abroad was growing, and the Soviet authorities
were anxious to capitalise (!) on his growing propaganda value. He was
also required to give his name to that series of denunciatory articles,
and was expected to produce, for the 22nd. Party Congress, a new symphony
celebrating Lenin's victory of October 1917. Lenin had a god-like reputation
in Soviet culture, which made the task even harder, and more fraught with
danger, for the antipathetic (and atheistic) composer. Sick at heart, Shostakovich
struggled for inspiration, finding none in Lenin (whom Shostakovich knew
to be every bit as wicked as Stalin) or his Bolshevik Revolution. His inspiration
eventually came, I think, from the sheer enormity of the challenge, apparently
to glorify Lenin whilst perpetrating an an even greater subversion than
the celebrated Fifth Symphony.

This synopsis
attempts (merely!) to summarise what is in effect an astoundingly complex
“plot”:

First
Movement: Revolutionary Petrograd: Bass strings growl a first subject
laden with threat, clawing upwards in a brutal crescendo, abruptly decapitated.
The pace quickens for an extensive development dominated by two-note phrases.
Tentative three-note phrases usher in a more fluid second subject, also
on bass strings. It too is immediately developed, into a burgeoning climax
beset by thudding two-note blows. Thus Shostakovich announces in tandem,
“This is Lenin, and this the People”. The brewing insurgence
of the development proper sets off much as did the first subject development,
but soon we hear two echoes from the Eleventh Symphony, which spoke
of the abortive 1905 uprising (fomented not by the Bolsheviks, but by the
liberal Narodniks). One, canoning across the strings, recalls the fate
awaiting the innocent demonstrators at Palace Square, the other alludes
to a couple of themes in the finale, both themselves quotations (from Rage,
You Tyrants!, and the Warsaw March, originally a Polish revolutionary
song). A brilliantly exciting conflict ensues, during which the “Lenin”
theme gains dominance. The recapitulation is scattered like ashes on the
field of battle, the violins insinuating into the “People” theme the motif
of “betrayal” from Lady MacBeth of Mtsensk (an undulating theme
best known from its appearance in the Eighth Quartet). “Lenin” brays
brazenly on heavy brass, and the People's three notes pluck, supplicating,
at his coat tails.

Second
Movement: Razliv, to the north of St. Petersburg, was Lenin's retreat
while planning his October assault. In the gloom, uninspired, “Lenin” broods
(a new theme on solo horn), the “People” creeping deep in the shadows of
his mind. A chorale tartly evokes Lenin's self-righteousness. Suddenly,
the “People” burgeon into an idea (violins), and the several themes intermingle
in sombre meditation, swelling into threnody (presaging the consequent
agony of the people) before receding into gloom. Holy light penetrates
the blackness, over pulsing strings the “brooding” theme becomes “divine
inspiration”. As this theme progresses through bassoon to clarinet, it
spawns a brief quotation of Shostakovich's early, abortive Funeral March
for the Victims of the Revolution, a supremely ironic comment on Lenin's
“genius”. Tamtam and string tremolandos cast a deathly chill of over the
rosy glow. Sounding uncannily like one of Alberich's more grandiloquent
gestures, Lenin proclaims his plan (the “inspiration” theme) on solo trombone.
Pizzicato basses intone an element of the threnody of the Eleventh Symphony,
juxtaposed meaningfully with the people's three notes over a subterranean
bass drum. Ian MacDonald elegantly concludes: “Thus, with infinite finesse,
Shostakovich lays at Lenin's door the ultimate guilt for the fifty million
victims of his Glorious Revolution”.

Third
Movement: Aurora: This short movement falls into two distinct parts.
In the first, tympani and pizzicato strings generate a rhythmic variant
of the “inspiration” theme: the plan becomes action. The air crackles with
tension, but urgency dissolves into expectant quiet: a plan alone is not
enough. In the second part, over bass drum and crawling strings, the “People”
rise up through deep brass in a truly glorious crescendo. Significantly,
the only two “truly glorious” moments in this work are both based firmly
on the “People”. At the climax, the battleship Aurora unleashes its opening
salvo at the Winter Palace. The battle is brief, dominated by the “inspiration/plan”
theme on extremely violent percussion and brass, a maelstrom
into which the “People” are inexorably sucked.

Finale:
The Dawn of Humanity. Capping supreme irony with what now seems almost
suicidal blatancy, the finale bursts in on massed horns rendering the Funeral
March for the Victims of the Revolution as the jubilant first subject
(to be fair, very few would actually have known this theme). After a climax,
the second subject, oscillating in violins, seems to harp back to the tentative
“dancing in the streets” of the Eighth Symphony's finale, especially
when joined by the “Lenin” theme for an ambivalent development. A couple
of climaxes later comes a remarkable incident: the “People” theme surfaces
for the first time in the finale, a lilting variant redolent of the style
of Rimsky Korsakov, who was a Narodnik sympathiser. This provokes
a massive outburst of “Lenin”, and the music becomes immediately more martial,
propelling the “Victims” and the “People” into a stark confrontation with
the grim figure of “Lenin”, now in his original (true?) colours. The ensuing
coda is a victory even more hollow than that of the Fifth Symphony,
the “Victims” and “People” themes hysterically festive, but repeatedly
halted by a massive, stagnant three note phrase on heavy brass. Is this
the people's three notes, banging their heads against a brick wall, or
the second phrase of Lenin's “inspiration/plan” theme, stonewalling the
celebrations, or what? (You choose!) The final repetition, even
more insistent, draws a response from the tympani, thundering the germinal
motif of the Eleventh Symphony - a dire warning.

Ian MacDonald
suggests that awareness of the “codes” in his music is essential for full
understanding of Shostakovich, both as a musician and as a man*. Whilst
I generally agree, I nevertheless believe that if a piece of music is “good”,
it must be“good” regardless of any hidden agendas. Does the Twelfth
Symphony measure up? It is the most thoroughly codified of his symphonies:
elsewhere, the codes are integral parts of the symphonic arguments, but
here the codes are the argument. However, you could substitute different
“characters” and still have a valid (though different) tale to tell. When
all's said and done, all musical themes are characters, and the
musical form is the tale they enact. This may not be the best thing Shostakovich
ever did, but it is a far better work than many pundits would have us believe.
Shorn of its encrustation of Western propaganda, it is at the very
least a fascinating, colourful and exciting musical adventure, whether
or not you understand the story.

*
This is too complex to elaborate here. If you are interested, may I commend
The
New Shostakovich, by Ian MacDonald (published by Fourth Estate, London).
Shostakovich's story is a riveting read, tense, dramatic, tragic, moving,
and sometimes - literally - ridiculously funny. My interpretation of this
symphony, although guided to some extent by MacDonald, disagrees with his
in several respects, but (such is the stuff of music) the essential import
remains intact.

Conditions
for use apply. Details hereCopyright in these notes is retained by the author without whose prior written permission they may not be used, reproduced, or kept in any form of data storage system. Permission for use will generally be granted on application, free of charge subject to the conditions that (a) the author is duly credited, and (b) a donation is made to a charity of the author's choice.